Ayme ran. The hallways of the STC Base on Tadath were covered in debris even after their almost year spent rebuilding. You couldn’t throw a stone without hitting an engineering crew working on a blown out wall or splicing together some wiring that had been burned. The Empire had fought their way back, scraping for every inch. She should have known that it had been too quiet, that what they had accomplished demanded a response.

She hit the door controls and squeezed through the opening before the durasteel had time to completely slide across the track. “Merrick!” Ayme shouted into the Command Center causing at least one private to spit out his caf.

Merrick did not move from the large viewport looking out over the training grounds. Her hands were clasped behind her back and the only indication she had heard anything was a slight tilt to her head. “What now?” She sighed the words and slowly turned putting only enough effort to place the Prefect in her peripheral vision.

Ayme trotted to her XO’s side. “Report, somethings wrong.”

The dark haired woman scoffed and rolled here eyes as she noticed Captain Aeos also approaching the pair. The two sisters together was never something she enjoyed enduring so early in the morning. “General, with all due respect, I do remember protocol. If the sensors had picked up any anomalies you would have been informed….”

Her voice trailed off as alarm klaxons filled the base.

========~~~~==========

Sergeant Jacen ‘Dusk’ Arture sat alone in the Direcat barracks. They had spent more time on cleaning and refitting duty than he cared for, but it did keep the troops busy. They had finally moved past the recovery phase and had been training in earnest. He had missed the feel of a sniper rifle in his hands. His fingers were currently picking at the worn edges of a picture, his picture of her. It always seemed to be the first thing his mind wanted to torture him with on the long nights.

With a sigh the SL got up and was just securing the picture safely zipped up in his chest pocket with the alarm sounded sending his hand to his belt where a blaster usually sat.

His mind immediately started racing, searching through information to try and remember if they had a drill scheduled for the morning.

Eviscares came  running into the locker room shirtless with only his soft sleep pants on, his hands came up to cover his ears. “What the hell is that?” He yelled over the noise.

Dusk shook his head and yelled. “I don’t know, but follow procedure. Get suited up and I’ll go gather the others.”

Direcat barracks were overfilled, as they continued their rebuilding efforts all qualified troopers had been placed in the same squad for the time being. That meant they had crammed even more sleeping cots into an already cramped space. A few of the troopers had opted to sleep elsewhere which was not an issue for Dusk as long as they reported for Drill on time.

Dusk yelled as loud as he could to be heard by everyone. “Cats! We need to gear up and report to ready location, now!” He just hoped the stragglers would follow protocol, and that this was just a drill.

========~~~~===========

“Turn that fedding alarm off in here!” Colonel Garryll Gates was leaning over the shoulder of a young officer working furiously on a terminal.

The alarm suddenly died leaving everyone in the room with the ghost of a ring in their ears. The distant continuation of the klaxons throughout the base could still be heard.

“Havock, you need to see this.” Gates eyes were piercing as they found hers. The gaze was filled with foreboding with undertones of the excitement any battle brought, he clearly had felt the same thing she had. 

Ayme looked at the monitors as a live feed of starships crumbling into ashes met her eyes. The tight screaming in her chest gripped her organs and made it hard to breath. She had felt it, the death, it was all around them and growing like a dark monster that had finally been released from its cage.

“Get a message to the Forward Operating Base. The troopers know to report there during an emergency. Tell them it is not a drill, orders to follow.” Her eyes turned hard and focused, now was not the time for fear that would fuel her anger later. “Intel, report.”

A skinny red headed man raised an eyebrow and pointed to his terminal. “General, I’m still sifting through reports from agents…but I have been examining the images from the fleet battle.” He quickly punched a series of keys bringing up the distant image of a large vessel, one of the few intact ones on the battlefield. The image quickly went through a quick progression of zooms until an insignia could be made out. It was blurry and the words were gibberish, but the commanders knew what they were looking at regardless.

Ayme sighed, “PGR, son of a bitch.”

Gates rubbed his chin thoughtfully before responding. “The NR can’t be clean of this, they are coming.”

The general nodded, “whether they caused it or not the moment they hear about it they will come. The question boils down to how much time we have.”

“Ma’am, multiple contacts in atmo.” The female voice rang out from across the room. Ayme and Gates quickly made their way to its source with Merrick following behind at a slower pace. Aeos hadn’t left the viewport as she looked down at the training grounds she had worked so hard to rebuild. “Looks like drop ships, General.”

“Well shit.”

OOC:

Chapter 10 Army People! Since we are spread out and to allow for any new members to join us, I’m making multiple objectives for us. The only thing I ask is that you indicate which objective you are working towards in your post at the top of the post.

So your post would look like this:

Objective 2

Havock rolled out of bed and wrote a post….
Etc etc
The end

Easy right?

Please look over Tal’s post for background information on what’s happening.

Objective 1 – [AHC] (Gates, Aeos, Merrick, and Havock) currently in the command center. Our job will be to coordinate the attack, report progress of the Fleet, and most importantly repel attackers and secure the command center from infiltrators who are with the PGR (at this point only PGR but later…).

Objective 2 – [STC] (Dusk/Direcats) Report to the Forward Command Center and, as a squad, attack the main body of the PGR forces who are landing in the drop ships.

Objective 3 – [STC/DJO/All] Troopers who cannot reach the Forward Command Center for whatever reason will serve as scouts/snipers in the field. Gather intel on our enemy and route out any spies/turncoats from the PCR in our midst.

Objective 4 – [Trainees] Any troopers who were/will be in training will have been either on the training grounds or in the recruit barracks. You will assist in securing the grounds of the base by setting traps/munitions and firing long range weapons against the enemy ships.

Objective 5 – [Fun] If you have another idea, or just want your character to be having a picnic watching the fun similar to civil war spectators this is the objective for you. If your plan impacts one of the other objectives I just ask that you get approval from a member of AHC, if it doesn’t explore and have fun.

Sol's timing was impeccable. The Adjudicator's forward view changed from a mixed blue and white swirling tunnel to streaks of while lights and finally local space. The inhabitants of the command bridge were met with the brilliant destruction of the Victory-II-Class Star Destroyer Matchless.

“All hands to stations. Launch all fighters and set double shields to double front.” The Admiral barked. Her reign as NCC had just begun, but the slender lady was no stranger to command. Her calmness during stress was one of the many attributes allowing for her ascension through the ranks of a male dominated military organization.

The Admiral’s Star Destroyer had come out of hyperspace well away from the raging battle ahead. “Order all fighters to swarm the Atrus. Bombers should be their primary concern, but do not hesitate to engage any opposition. I want that ship to remain intact.” Sol’s calm, cool voice appeared to aid in keeping the confusion and chaos to a minimum, for now at least. Only a few seconds went by before the bee-like swarm of the Adjudicator's fighter wing emerged in the front viewport. Ahead, she could make out the outline of the attackers, but the lack of light, mixed with the sheer distance between Second Fleet and the battle caused her to hold off judgement of the capital class ships brought in by the enemy. It did not, however, appear to be a very large force.

“Lieutenant, lower the shield regeneration to sixty percent and reroute the excess power to the engines. Let’s go play,” a slight grin crossing her face. Another moment went by and the speed on the holoscreens appearing before her on the command chair slowly rose.

What felt like hours passed before the Second Fleet was in range enough to assess the full situation. A pair of Impstar-Deuces along with another pair of Mon Cal cruisers and various smaller, seemingly insignificant support vessels were hammering away on the Super Star Destroyer’s shields. Cortana ordered her communications officer to get in contact with the Atrus and assess their situation.

Evir Norith, a Lieutenant Junior Grade and on duty Comm’s Officer spoke up, “Admiral, Commodore Zateki has informed me their shields are holding steady just over fifty percent. Enemy bombers severely damaged roughly ten of the forward batteries and engineers are working on getting them back online as we speak.”

The female commander let an inaudible sigh of relief, knowing the Atrus was, at least for the moment, out of harm’s way. She had Evir relay that if the shields began to drop, inform her immediately. “Weapons Officer, I want your men to focus on the nearest support vessels. Relay to our Task Force to do the same,” Cortana commanded dryly. Get the insects out of our hair, and the larger prey will be like sitting ducks, Sol told herself.

OOC:

Alright, Naval folk, we've got our basis laid. Like the Stormtrooper Corps, we'll layout several base objectives to work on. I hope this keeps everything easier to keep up with, as you only need read the last post for a given objective then. One thing I do request, like the STC, please OOC what objective your post pertains to (and if possible, color code those two words).

Objective Aurek
Ship Captains and Crewmembers

There's dozens of little ships (Neb-B cruisers, CR-90 corvettes, etc). Take them out...all of them.


Objective Besh
Fighter Squadrons

Fighter Squadrons, there's wings upon wings of fighters (A-Wings and X-Wings). Additionally, we have 3 wings of bombers (2 wings of Y-Wings and one of B-wings). We need them gone. Focus on the bombers, they hurt capitals. Secondary objective is neutralizing the fighters


Objective Cresh
Bomber Squadrons


This is going to be a strictly NPC bombing wing. Don't be afraid to post as one of these pilots (make it up, let me him/her die gloriously or frivolously, I don't care) and attack the larger ships (Imp-deuce and Mon Cal cruisers). The smaller ships guns will track you far too easily, so stay away from them!

Objective Dorn
Off-Duty Characters

Eating? Sleeping? Pooping? your CD Posts go in this objective.

There you have it! Get out there and blast shit outer space!

OOC:

Objective Dorn, Following VENA Cadet squadron

Captain Gorma stalked the halls of the Dreadnaught Class Heavy Cruiser Obdurate the most recent report on the performance of Raptor Squadron on the datapad clutched in his fist. The performance of the trainee fighter pilots under his command had been lackluster at best, and the time had come to do something about it. He turned a corner and arrived at his quarters, he contemplated the door for only a moment before he entered and went immediately to the closet, where he grabbed the plain black uniform there, and the helmet and harness from where they hung.

==Hangar Bay==

The twelve TIE Interceptors that made up Raptor Squadron had been preflighted and prepped, and now sat empty waiting for their pilots to return. Which they would do in a matter of moments to fly their next training mission, which would be a eight on eight scrimmage, with Cresh flight being supplemented by a flight of fighters that had come from another ship specifically for this exercise. Slasher walked up to the Flight Leader of that flight and identified himself.

“Chief, I want one of your flight to stand down for this next exercise, and I have special orders for you.”

“Sir?”

“I've been very unhappy with the performance of the training squadron, they are becoming overconfident, and they need to be reminded that they are not invincible. I will be changing the rules of this engagement.”

“Aye Sir, what are your new orders?”

“This engagement is going to be changed to be 12 on 4, in favor of the training squadron. Give them the advantage of numbers, while we have the advantage of experience, but do not hold back, I fully expect them to lose this engagement, and I want it to be a loss that they will remember for a long time.”

Before he climbed into the fighter he would use for the scrimmage he handed the updated briefing information to the briefing officer. That done he entered the cockpit if the TIE Interceptor, strapped in, and launched with the rest of the opposing flight.

“Slash 3 to Slash lead, lets cut around and hit them as they launch, take out a couple of them.”

“Good plan 3, alright boys, prepare to engage.”

Within seconds the fight was joined, as the fighters of Raptor Squadron launched in tight formation by flight, the first flight had barely cleared the launch bay when two of them went dead in space, their systems 'killed' by the ion blasts from the ion cannons set into the cannon ports below the cockpit viewport on each of the TIE Interceptors. The fighters of Slash flight roared past the two dead fighters as the other two fighters of that first flight broke and began to take evasive action.

The second and third flights out of the dreadnaught fared better, they were able to break formation in time and one of them even was able to get off a shot at the opposing fighters as they flew past, taking out Slash 4 and leaving Raptor squadron with 10 fighters and Slash flight with 3. With the element of surprise gone the odds now turned against Slash flight and the battle was joined in earnest.

“Slash 2 watch it you've got one on your tail” The pilot pulled back on his stick, which put his fighter into a steep climb, as the fighter climbed he pushed his engines to their maximum, and then suddenly slammed his stick to the right, he cut the power to his engines a second later, which caused the fighter to spin around, and brough the pursuit fighter into his cross-hairs, where it was quickly dispatched. At the same time Slash Leader pursued two fighters of his own, one of them fell to his cannons when the pilot committed the error of being predictable in his evasive actions.

Slasher meanwhile had his hands full, the third flight had realized that he no longer had a wingman, and had decided that they would take him out while the remnants of flights one and two kept Slash Lead and Slash 2 busy. He had two fighters on his tail, and the other two came in at angles, their aim obviously to try and catch him in a cross fire. As the fighters closed Slasher counted down the seconds, he jinked his fighter back and forth in a random pattern to keep the fighters behind him at bay. Suddenly he slammed the stick to the right, and raked fire over one of the two fighters that had been trying to line up a shot on him, the fighter went dead, as its own shots went a little high nailing one of the fighters that had been behind him, causing that fighter to go dead as well.

Slasher accelerated to full throttle, in pursuit of another fighter, his shots reached out and stitched blue bolts across the cockpit of Raptor 10, before he turned back toward the engagement of the other members of Slash flight, the final fighter of Third flight, Raptor 11, in pursuit of him, It had taken only four or five minutes, and of the original twelve fighters launched by Raptor Squadron only Raptor 11, Raptor 6, Raptor 8 and Raptor 4 were still alive. Reduced to a third of their original strength, and as Slasher rolled his fighter 180 degrees, and pulled back on the stick this caused his fighter to come back to level flight, but now he faced the opposite direction from Raptor 11's course, however before Raptor 11 could come around to face him Slasher pulled back on the stick as he began to climb again he executed another half turn, and then when he had reached approximately the same altitude as Raptor 11 he pushed down on the stick which put him in perfect position to play cannon fire over Raptor 11. At the same time Raptor 6 and Raptor 4 fell to shots from the other two pilots in Slash flight, and Raptor 8 had fallen victim to another unfortunate case of friendly fire caused by his tendency to be overzealous in pursuit of the enemy.

The scrimmage completed a remote signal went out reactivating the 'dead' fighters, and they returned to their hangar, unaware of how soon they would be baptized under real fire.

OOC:

Objective Besh

Arianna ran down the corridor, helmet held firmly in her hand as she stepped onto the flight deck of the Adjudicator, breathing a bit quickly as she looked over the crews get the fighters ready.  With a bit of a hop, skip, and a jump, she continued making her way to her fighter, a TIE Interceptor MkII, climbing up the stairs to the rack.  She looked over and noticed the other pilots in her squadron and several others doing the same.  With a smirk, she dropped down into the ball cockpit of her craft, the hatch above her dropping closed with a sharp hiss.

Immediately, she flipped on her comm and keyed in the squadron frequency.  “Attention Aurora Squadron, this is Aurek Lead.  We have orders to depart the hangar upon the command of the Captain, then we are to provide support for the fleet and cover them from enemy bombers.  We are jumping into a full-scale battle, much larger than what we faced this past year…” She said, sliding her helmet on, the latches securing down with a click and a hiss.

“But through our hard work and dedication to the Empire, we have grown together as a unit.  As a team… And we will not let our Captain… Our Empire down!” Arianna said with a smile, noting the cheers and yells she received in response.

The Squadron Commander started running through the pre-flight check, watching as the systems light up green.  ’So far so good… If we make out of this one alive, we’ll be able to take on anything… And we’re going to need a well-deserved vacation’ she thought to herself, looking over each system carefully.

Satisfied with the diagnostics, she turned her comm back on and spoke.  “Alright Aurora.  T-minus two minutes and counting!  All fighters report in!” she said, flipping her side display to a readout of the squadron’s fighters.

“Aurora 2 reporting in!” she heard her wingwoman reply, her mind placing the Togruta Anatosh’s face to the voice.

“Aurora 3 is here!” the gruff voice of Grent Notimo responded, the pilot’s rugged face a clear image in her mind.

“Aurora 4, ready and waiting,” the mysterious pilot known by the callsign ‘Blue Womprat’ said.

“Besh Flight Lead Aurora 5, reporting in,” Trevor replied quickly, Arianna smirking some at his response.

“Aurora 6 here,” Sadreen said softly.

“Aurora 7, ready for action!” the energetic voice of Makenna came over the comm.  “and might I say, it has been an honor and a privilege to-”

“Can it O’Malley,” Lieutenant Evenson said, cutting the young pilot off.

After a few seconds of silence, Robert spoke up.  “Aurora 8, reporting in.”

“Cresh Flight Lead Aurora 9, here.”

“Aurora 10 ready to go!”

“Aurora 11 reporting in.”

“Aurora 12, ready and waiting.”

Arianna smiled as each fighter lit up green on her display.  “Alright ‘Rora… Here we go…” she said before switching over to the general comm.  “Hangar Controller, this is Commander Blaire of Aurora Squadron, waiting your launch instructions.”

“Copy that Commander.  We are awaiting instructions from the bridge.  Standby for launch signal,” came the voice of the hangar controller.

“Aye aye, Control.  Aurora is on standby,” she replied, sighing softly before looking over her instruments again.  ’Everything looks in order…’ Arianna thought to herself, smiling a bit.

Several minutes passed before the Star Destroyer exited hyperspace, the outer edges of a battle raging outside barely visible out of the hangar bay.  The comm crackled before the Controller spoke again.  “All squadrons, you are cleared for launch!”

Arianna gave her confirmation of the order along with the other squadron commanders before switching to her own squadron channel.  “Alright Aurora, we’ve got the green light!  Let's get out there and do what we do best!” she said loud and proud before pressing the control to disengage the rack clamp.  However, a loud knocking noise came from overhead as the entire clamp, fighter and pilot included, fell off the rack track.  Arianna have a very demeaning yelp as her fighter hit the deck playing hard, the two solar panels to either side snapping off.  “Damnit!!” she yelled as her eyeball cockpit started rolling for the hangar door.  “Someone engage a tractor beam on me already!” She yelled into the general comm.  Moments before she plummeted out of the hangar, the cockpit’s forward motion stopped as a tractor beam was engaged at the last moment.  With a sigh, she relaxed into her seat before switching back to the squadron channel.  “Aurora Squadron, why in the hell are you still in here??  Disengage your fighters and get out there!!  We have a battle to win!!” She said loudly, smiling some as the fighters began flying out of the hangar.  Her smile faded as she realized that she was rolling back across the deck, a sigh coming from her lips.  ’... Someone is going to die… And it's not going to be me…’ she said to herself, a gloved hand rubbing her thigh.

OOC:

Alright Aurora… We are on Objective Besh.  Go out there and have fun!  I'll be out shortly to join you!

Maroy, it would not surprise me at all if you chose to stay back until we can both get out there.  Not safe to fly alone, after all

AFTER ACTION REPORT:

Aurora Squadron made it to the hangar onboard the Adjudicator, where they began their preflight check.  Arianna noticed nothing throwing up red flags on her diagnostics panel and proceeded to have the squadron report in.  Following that, she ran a second diagnostic test, to be absolutely sure that the fighter we was piloting was in working order.  After alerting Hangar Control that the squadron was ready, the unit awaited the Star Destroyer to exit hyperspace.  After some rousing words from Arianna, she proceeded to leave the hangar, when the docking clamp holding her fighter up on the TIE rack broke, sending the Interceptor falling to the deck.  After nearly rolling out the hangar, Blaire ordered the squadron to proceed on mission until an investigation for a saboteur could be filed and a new fighter procured so that she could (re)join the squadron.

OOC:

Objective Dorn,
          Rear Admiral Zev Trikarian's quarters, Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Subjugator, in the Vectra System:
                    Rear Admiral Zev Trikarian, commanding officer of Task Force Besh, and
                    Captain Fenix Malakai, commanding officer of the Subjugator.

Zev Trikarian’s shoulders sagged, the moment the hatch slid closed.  “I’ve made a terrible mistake, Fenix,” the Kuati admiral said, before slumping into his armchair and steepling his fingers beneath his nose.

Fenix Malakai, the captain of the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Subjugator which served as Trikarian’s flagship, folded himself primly into the chair on the other side of the desk.  “Surely it’s not so bad, sir?”

Zev scoffed.  “The Vast Empire,” he said derisively.  “Vast!  Ha!  They control only three major star systems, with maybe a half-dozen truly significant planetary bodies under direct occupation.”

The younger officer cleared his throat diffidently.  “We control only three systems, sir.  Not they.”

Zev glared at him.  “Like I said, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Malakai thought about that, for a moment.  “You want to return to the Ejj Sector.”  It wasn’t exactly a question.

The long, low sigh that Trikarian exhaled then wasn’t exactly an answer, either.  “I don’t know,” Zev admitted.  “Responding to Stormz’s recall order last year was the right thing to do.  I owed it to my friend, to see if he’d really survived that debacle at Corellia, and I was glad to see the VE’s long-hoped-for revival finally come to fruition.  And I don’t regret the accord that we struck, after the confusion with the White Fleet saboteurs was handled.  I don’t regret brokering the deal that left the VE and the SGE at peace.”

Malakai waited a beat, then said: “And yet, you say you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

The ends of Zev’s lips quirked into a wry - and short-lived - smile.  “Peace between Imperials was good, Fenix; it was better than war.  But I’ve had a year to see what that deal has brought the galaxy, and I’m sorely disappointed by what my dealing has wrought.”  He punched a button on the desktop, and a holographic representation of the galaxy shimmered into being, floating above the desk.

The typical teal-blue of the hologram was overlaid with other colors, denoting the blobby political borders of the galaxy’s major factions.  Red marked the New Republic, which stretched out across much of the Mid and Outer Rim like some inflamed, cancerous organ.  A dark blue slash in the galactic north and northwest was Grand Admiral Thrawn’s confederacy, perhaps the faction with the best claim to be the uninterrupted continuation of the First Galactic Empire.  Little black shapes in Wild Space and peppered throughout the Unknown Regions denoted the various Imperial hardliner factions, which had fled the civilized galaxy to found humanocentric dictatorships, or to seek Dark Side artifacts or superweapon armories that might have been left behind by long-dead Sheev Palpatine.  There was a green amoeboid shape that marked Hutt Space.  And in the galactic southwest, there were two small bubbles of color that looked like oversaturated bruises.  A larger, purple one, denoting the Second Galactic Empire’s holdings in and around the Ejj Sector.  And a smaller, blue one, showing the Vast Empire’s systems.

Zev looked through the multicolored light, and caught Malakai’s gaze.  “We’re losing,” he said.

“Technically, we’re not at war,” Malakai countered.

Zev shook his head.  “The Galactic Concordance ended the Plague Wars, but the ceasefire only drove the conflict underground.  The civil war is still going, Fenix!”  He pointed at the black areas of the map.  “Former COMPNOR hardliners have broken all the disarmament treaties, and we’re hearing alarming rumors about mind control, cloning, and atrocities on civilian populations.”  He stabbed a finger at the red part of the map.  “The Republic is arming their own private paramilitary cell in response.  So much for decentralization and demilitarization.”  The small blue area was next.  “And what is the Vast Empire doing about all this?  Nothing.  We sit here, guarding a shipyard that cradles a superweapon-to-be that will never be completed.”

Malakai raised an eyebrow.  It wasn’t the first time his superior had voiced opposition to the Eclipse-class hull under delayed construction at the Bluepoint 5 shipyards.  “What are you more upset about, sir,” he asked, “the fact that the VE is building a superweapon, or the fact that we can’t seem to get it together to finish the thing?”

“Both!” Zev yelled.  “It’s disgraceful, the amount of mismanagement and timidity the Navy has seen, since Cortana took over.  And it’s disgusting, to think that some of the new political leadership seems to sympathize with these ‘First Order’ fanatics!  The Empire has tried the Tarkin Doctrine, damn it!  It doesn’t work!”

Zev shook his head, and jabbed a finger onto the button again, killing the hologram.  “I’m glad the Second Galactic Empire and the Vast Empire didn’t go to war, last year,” he said, palms upturned.  “But to buy that goodwill I had to return half the SGE fleet to the VEN, and agree to return to service myself, under Cortana’s command.  That loss of ships crippled the SGE; they’ve effectively stopped expanding.  And what has Cortana done, in the meantime?  Endless patrols in a static defensive posture.”

Malakai was frowning.  “We’re still Imperials.  And we’re still in control of our territories.  Sir.”

Zev grimaced.  “Fewer and fewer territories, all the time.  And less and less in control,” he said wearily.  “Look, I appreciate these little talks, Fenix.  I promise, I’m not about to turn traitor on you.  But with Cortana’s lackeys spread through the officer ranks, you’re one of the only people I can trust.  And every now and then, I need to vent.”

“Yes, because you’ve made such a terrible mistake, sir.  Indeed.”  The delivery was absolutely deadpan.

Zev smiled, despite himself.  “Exactly.”

An insistent tone interrupted their shared laughter, signalling a communication from the command deck.  Zev answered: “This is Trikarian.  What is it?”

A communications technician, her professional tone marred by an unmistakable anxiousness, said: “Admiral, we’re getting confused reports of attacks in the Rheagant System.  Admiral Cortana is taking her Task Force to investigate.  Our ships are ordered to remain here, to protect the Vectra System.”

Both Malakai and Trikarian were standing, before the tech had finished speaking.

“Acknowledged,” Zev said.  “Tell the Admiral ‘happy hunting.’  I’ll be on the bridge momentarily.”

When the hatch slid open to let them out, Admiral Zev Trikarian’s shoulders were squared, and his back was straight.  No one but Captain Fenix Malakai would know the doubts and concerns he harbored; to the casual observer, he would be the very model of a modern Imperial officer.

And indeed, with alarms sounding, all the ideological differences melted away.  When the turbolasers were about to fire, existential and political questions took a backseat to survival and teamwork.  Zev would do what he had always done: protect his people, and fight his enemies.

OOC:

Summary:

In the Vectra System, Rear Admiral Zev Trikarian is talking with Captain Fenix Malakai aboard his flagship, the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer Subjugator.  He's complaining about what he perceives as the Vast Empire's problems: a lack of aggressive and competent naval leadership, and a lack of enlightened self-interest among the faction's political leaders.  The Plague Wars are over, but the Galactic Civil War hasn't exactly stopped: the conflict has merely been pushed underground, with both the Republic and Empire fighting proxy wars in the wilderness.  But while the Resistance and the First Order are beginning to come into being, the Vast Empire doesn't seem to be doing anything to counteract those emergent threats.  And Zev Trikarian wonders if he wouldn't have been better off remaining in the Ejj Sector, guiding the military campaigns of the much more moderate - and much more effective - Second Galactic Empire faction.

The pair's conversation is cut short, though, by the unconfirmed reports of an attack on the Rheagant System.  Vice Admiral Cortana takes her task force to investigate the reports (and reinforce the system), leaving Rear Admiral Trikarian to guard the Vectra System.

OOC:

Objective Besh

Loud alarms blared in Arianna’s ears as she sat there in the torn apart cockpit.  She quickly moved her hands about the console before finding the emergency release.  Pulling the lever, the canopy over the cockpit blew off, the top skittering across the hangar deck as the last of the fighters flew out into the fray outside.  Unsecuring her straps holding her in, the young Squadron Commander crawled up out of the remains of the fighter, groaning a bit.  Several of the deck officers rushed over and helped her to her feet, moving her towards the wall.  With a brush of her hand, Arianna waved them off, then took her helmet off.  She looked back at her fighter before saying darkly “Get me the engineer who prepared my fighter..”

The two officers looked at the pilot before snapping a crisp salute, quickly running off.  She let out a sigh before slumping down against the wall, helmet clattering on the deck plates as it fell from her hand.  ’Blast it all.. Why'd it have to go and do that?  This… This was to be a simple mission.  Go out, shoot some Reshies, then come home… Simple as that…’ Arianna thought to herself, sighing again.  ’But no… Someone had to sabotage my fighter.  Who knows who else is going to have the same problem?’  With that thought, she quickly got up, steadying herself on the wall before moving towards the wrecked cockpit.  She crawled down inside, moving under the control console before, with several sparks flying, she ripped out the data recorder.  She backed out of the ship, holding the metal box to her chest as she stumbled back to her helmet.  She bent down slightly, scooped it up, before heading out of the hangar.

“If what I'm thinking is correct… Then we might have a larger problem on our hands…” She said to herself as she strode down the hall, ignoring the passing glances of the other crewmen.  Taking a sharp right turn, Arianna walked into the engineering bay, looking at the engineers inside.  “Petty Officer, I require your assistance,” she said to the young man inside, setting the flight recorder down on a counter.

The Petty Officer looked over at her and sighed.  “What did you break now, Commander Blaire?” he asked, chuckling a bit.

“Nothing, as far as I know.  Docking clamp on my fighter broke off the rack, repulsor lifts and ion engines failed to engage.  Shield emitters failed to activate too, resulting in the two solar panels breaking off upon impact with the deck plating,” Arianna replied, smirking a bit.

“Didn't your preflight check show something was off?  Or did you not run one?” He asked, smirking as he plugged the data recorder into a computer.

“That's just it… Preflight came back green.  Ran it three times, like I normally do.  All green,” she said, sighing a bit.  “Brody, I need a new fighter.  I can't leave my squadron out there.”

“There aren't any fighters left, Commander.  At least not Interceptors.  I believe that there are some of the older TIE Fighters down in the ventral hangar…” Petty Officer Brody said, looking at her.

She smiled a bit, nodding.  “Thanks Brody.  Oh, and before I forget… Make sure to file a request for investigation into the sabotage of our fighters,” Arianna said, heading to the door.

“Will do Commander Blaire… Stay safe out there…” He said quietly as she walked out, shaking his head some before getting to work on the flight recorder.

Arianna gave him a quick nod and a smile before walking out into the hall, heading off towards the turbolifts.  She carefully navigated through the halls, flight boots thudding loudly on the deck playing as she passed by crew members and officers.  She approached the bank of lifts, heading into one and slapping the button for the lower deck.  The door closed slowly in front of her as the lift began moving down.  With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes slowly.  ’They're going to be okay…’

OOC:

After Action Report:

Arianna managed to get out of her fighter, extracting the Flight Recorder.  After taking it to the engineering bay and the engineer in there, Petty Officer 2nd Class Brody, she began her journey to the ventral hangar, where she will procure a TIE Fighter and rejoin the battle.

OOC:

Objective Besh

“Besh Flight Lead Aurora 5, reporting in,” Trevor replied quickly, the words souring his mouth. Despite the leadership he had displayed to the squadron over the past year, he had still not received an appointment to the XO position. He had felt it was primarily because Arianna did not want to admit that he deserved the position, and that she was playing politics. He was partially correct. The truth was that although Trevor never actually disobeyed a direct command, he frequently bent as many rules as possible. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't presenting himself as leadership material.

“Aurora 6 here,” Tokijin said softly. It had been roughly a year and she was finally starting to warm to Trevor again. Perhaps not feeling the way she felt years ago, but at least to the point they could trust each other while flying.

“Aurora 7, ready for action!” the energetic voice of Makenna came over the comm.  “and might I say, it has been an honor and a privilege to-”

“Can it O’Malley,” Trevor said, cutting her off. It was a phrase he was a little too fond of using on the young pilot. It always quieted her up, but not for long. Her skills had grown immensely over the past year and Trevor could easily see her moving into a flight leader position, if one were to ever open up.

After a few seconds of silence, Robert spoke up.  “Aurora 8, reporting in.” Trevor still wasn't sure how he felt about the final member of his flight. He was quiet and distant, but surprisingly reliable in battle for someone who seemed to want little to do with the squadron outside of missions.

“Cresh Flight Lead Aurora 9, here.” Jake “Cannon” Johnson announced over the comm. Trevor had gotten to know the man relatively well. He was a heavy set man in his early twenties who had come from a farm on Lotaith and was recruited right out of school. They got on pretty well, although Jake had a bit of disdain for a few other members of the squadron.

“Aurora 10 ready to go!” Harper “Music” Ef'cia said. Harper was close to Trevor's age and, from his understanding, had served with the Navy for a few years during the time he had been with Nazgul, but posted in a different system. Based on her file though, he had flown significantly more hours than she had, and most of her action was limited to patrols. Very little real combat experience.

“Aurora 11 reporting in.” Ispep "Scandal" Xetpo chimed in. Trevor hadn't had a chance to interact much with this new addition to the squadron, he had been transferred literally days before.  From what he knew, the man was broad shouldered, with green hair and a bad temper. Hopefully it doesnt affect his flight. Trevor though to himself.

“Aurora 12, ready and waiting.” Asori “Crash” Reed chirped. The female Twi'lek was the only non-human in the squadron, and she was quite reserved. Trevor didn't know much about her other than she had tattoo markings that showed she had been a slave at some point in her past.

“Alright ‘Rora… Here we go…” Arianna said following the check in, before alerting the tower that they were ready to launch.

“Copy that Commander.  We are awaiting instructions from the bridge.  Standby for launch signal,” came the voice of the hangar controller.

“Aye aye, Control.  Aurora is on standby,” she replied, her soft sigh audible over the comm. It was how Trevor had found she sounded when she was ready to go.

A few minutes later the ISD dropped out of hyperspace and the all clear command was given by the tower. “All squadrons, you are cleared for launch!”

Arianna came in loud and clear over the Aurora Squadron channel, “Alright Aurora, we’ve got the green light!  Let's get out there and do what we do best!” she said loudly before releasing her fighter from the rack. As she did so, a loud knocking noise came from overhead as the entire clamp, fighter and pilot included, fell off the rack track.  Arianna gave a very demeaning yelp as her fighter hit the deck plating hard, the two solar panels to either side snapping off. Trevor chuckled to himself. Almost every mission she seemed to have some sort of malfunction, although this one actually seemed like it wasn't her fault. A moment after she had been snagged by a tractor beam, she ordered them to launch. Trevor thumbed the release toggle and his fighter dropped a few feet before the craft's repulsors caught it and guided him out of the hanger.

Dropping into space was a freeing feeling, and Trevor took a moment to soak it in, before dialling in on the targets. “Alright, Aurora. Commander Blaire is out of commission for the time being, so let's just stay focused. Y-wings and B-wings are the primary targets, X-wings and A-wings as required. They can't do much to the capitol ships, but those bombers sure can.” Trevor said, painting some targets on radar and accelerating around the hull of the Adjudicator. The Atrus, a ship Trevor was all too familiar with, was under attack and a short distance away. Considering it was the flagship of the Vast Empire, it was clearly a priority.

As the squadron approached, warning alarms went off inside Trevor's cockpit. “Alright, they've locked onto us. Split up into pairs and keep in radio contact. If you need help, ask for it.” Trevor said as he juked his control yoke to the right, rolling away from the rest of the squadron, Tokijin following behind him. Flight One stuck together as a trio, while all the other pilots paired off with their wingmates.

“Toks, can you tell who's got a lock on me?” Trevor asked, pushing the throttle of the Interceptor to full, hoping he could outrun his pursuer.

No reply.

“Tokijin, are you there?” Trevor asked again, tapping his helmet in case there was poor contact in his comm system. “Hey, can anyone read me?” Trevor shouted, feeling mild panic at the idea that the entire squadron's comms were down. No reply again. A moment later, the warning sirens in his cockpit stopped and a quick glance at his radar revealed the A-wings were gone, and an additional pair of green dots had appeared behind Tokijin and himself.

“Thanks for the save, who was that?” Trevor asked. No reply, again, and no chatter on the radio either, nothing but dead air. He shook his head and hoped that it was just his communication systems malfunctioning. Everything had been fine on the pre-flight, but strange things can happen once the fighters start moving. Kind of wish I had an astromech now, to take a look at this stuff. Trevor thought to himself. He shook his head as he angled his fighter back towards the main battle, when he caught sight of a trio of X-wings narrowing in on an interceptor that was flying in a straight line.

“A control failure? Who is that anyway?” Trevor asked aloud as he used the targeting system to ping the transponder of the Interceptor. Aurora 7. Shit. “Makenna, evade! Roll to starboard and pull up, you'll bring your tail right across our path!” Trevor ordered hopelessly. To his surprise, Makenna's fighter followed his order exactly, and the X-wings followed her upwards.

“If you can hear me, roll to port and acknowledge, I think I'm having comm issues.” Trevor ordered again. Makenna once again followed the order, but Trevor got no verbal confirmation. As she straightened out, Trevor, Tokijin, and the mystery pilots pulled in line behind the X-wings. Trevor thumbed the missile control on the flight stick and let a pair of missiles fly as soon as he heard the lock confirmation tone. Tokijin's wing cannons slung green bolts across space, and from slightly behind him another pair of missiles were launched towards the enemy. The three fighters broke in different directions to try and escape, but they were too slow to react. All three were torn apart in short order, providing three easy kills to Aurora Squadron.

Before Trevor could say anything, Makenna's voice broke into his helmet. “Thanks, I just panicked for a moment there.” She said, her voice waivering.

“Wait, can you hear me now?” Trevor asked, throttling back slightly and checking for nearby targets – nothing to worry about for the moment.

“I could hear you before too.” Makenna replied.

“Me to, loud and clear.” Tokijin piped up over the comm.

“Yeah, us too. We wondered why you didn't say thanks when we took care of those A-wings on your ass.” Hulk added, as he and Crash broke away from the group. “We've got more work to do, let's get on it.”

Trevor quickly switched comm channels, selecting the channel that would put him back in touch with the engineering department. “Hey guys, Aurora 5 here. I just had a comm blackout, that's going to be a disaster if it happens again. Can you look into it?”

“Copy that Aurora 5. I actually just had your squadron leader in here, she dropped off the flight recorder from her damaged TIE. I think I've found the problem, and we're working on a fix for you, but it could be a bit. We're going to upload the current flight data from your TIE as well...” The engineer on the other end of the comm explained, before trailing off. “Ok, that's done. And a quick look... Yeah, just like I expected. Ok, we're going to get on this as quickly as we can and will upload a live fix to the fighters as soon as we can.”

Trevor blinked. “A fix for what, exactly?”

“Seems as though someone uploaded a virus of some type into the control systems of the fighters. So far, only Aurora has been reporting problems. It shut down Commander Blaire's shields and engines, and it prevented you from receiving messages. Hopefully we get this fixed before it shuts down someone's shields out there.”

“Well should we come back in until this is fixed? I don't want to lose anyone.”

“Negative, if you guys re-dock the virus could spread when you re-engage the clamps. They have a hardwire connection to download all the flight data, and we can't shut that down. It could take down the whole ship. It's different when I just upload a snapshot of your flight data to analyze, or when I viewed the information on the flight recorder. But a direct connection like that would be a major problem. You guys need to stay out until we get this figured out.” The engineer explained quickly, and Trevor could hear shuffling in the background as if he was throwing papers around his desk. “I'm sorry, there isn't another option.”

Trevor sighed, and quietly acknowledged. This will be hard to explain to everyone.

OOC:

AAR: Trevor's comm system failed, and when checking with engineering, it was revealed that a malicious virus had been installed onto the Aurora TIEs (possibly other squadrons as well). Aurora pilots are going to have to deal with sudden systems failures, including weapons, engines, and shields.

OOC:

Objective 2

‘What fresh hell is this?’ Karash thought to himself as he stood in the corridor listening to the blaring klaxons.

Since the Squad had taken up residency on Tadath, Karash had spent as little time as possible in the cramped barracks. There was very little space and the Squad had so little meaningful work to do that they had been assigned dull and repetitive tasks. The whole situation had meant that tempers frayed very easily and fifteen minutes could not pass without one squad member arguing with another, Karash was always involved in such disagreements one way or another. The Squad still need one final test to prove their worth and loyalty to one another but the trouble was they all knew that that ‘test’ would come at a cost. In order to avoid the tension Karash had begun walking around aimlessly in full combat armor, it meant that he could be alone without some random NCO or CO ordering to do something; it seemed that if you had your helmet on and marched about officiously people assumed you were doing something useful.

It was not the first time that Karash had heard those alarms and he knew what they meant, for a moment he thought back to the last time he heard them and shivered. Soon enough instinct took over once again and he made his way to the armoury, where he would pick up whatever weapons were deemed necessary for the tasks ahead. Through the com system in his helmet he was told where the squad was to form up, as always it looked as though his squad was going into the thick of things.

As Karash approached the armoury he was met by dozens of other troopers all trying to force their way to the front to collect their gear as well as hastily put on their combat armor. It was slightly unnerving to see so many troopers in such disarray but Karash had to remember that a large number of them were fresh out of training, they simply did not know what was going on.

“Out of the way!” Karash shouted at the nearest group of rookies fumbling with their armor. “It doesn’t go on like that; it goes like this.” Karash spoke to a Private struggling with his armor and thumped him hard in the chest, “See? Now try and look a little less petrified, we don’t even know who we are dealing with yet.”

“Yes Sergeant, thankyou Sir.” The Private half smiled as put his helmet on and dashed off.

‘Since when were you helpful?’ Karash asked himself. 

He forced his way into the armory and to the Sergeant Major in charge of things, the armory had only just opened and already the man looked as though he was ready to collapse. Karash took his helmet off and leaned in close to the Sergeant Major, “Any idea what is actually going on?”

“No idea, we are being new given orders left right and centre though. Whatever is happening must be big, the higher ups are clearly rattled and the rookies are all over the place.” The middle-aged man spoke in hushed tones.

“Can’t be good then.” Karash said to himself, “Are we just being given the usual stuff?” Karash addressed the Sergeant Major again.

“Yep, standard gear. Good luck out there Sergeant.” The older man handed Karash his rifle and slapped him on the back. For a moment the two men shared a knowing look, both might be dead soon enough and both men wanted just a little reassurance.

Reattaching his helmet and making a cursory check of the equipment he had been given, Karash began to make his way to the meeting point. For the moment the Squads comm channel was relatively quiet, every so often Dusk or some other senior Officer would relay an order. By this time the corridors were heaving with personnel from every division and of every rank, they were running in all directions and all seemed to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. The more senior personnel were worried because they knew what was happening, the others were scared because they did not know what was going on. Karash thought that for the moment at least ignorance was bliss, he was not sure he could keep moving if he knew what they were facing.   

After a few more minutes Karash reached the assembly point and could see that, for the most part, the rest of the squad were already there. He was reassured to see at least some troopers he had some trust in, though he was not sure how long that feeling would last once they knew what they were dealing with.

“Direcat, report!” The cold voice of Dusk boomed in the Squads ears.

What followed was a series of affirmative responses, all of which were now familiar to Karash. His own response was a rather lacklustre “Here.”

“Here are our orders, they come from General Katash hereself. So I hope you all are ready.” Dusk’s voice was as authoritative as ever.

‘Oh this can’t be good. . .’ Karash thought to himself as the orders were read out.

Objective Cresh
Bomber Squadrons


Makka Buidhe had been running diagnostics in the flight bay when the attack began. It was probably the only reason he was still alive.

One moment he'd been working with a droid when an explosion rocked the hull, like as if a giant had grabbed the ship and shook it angrily. For the unsuspecting crew, it was murder. Three flight techs screams were cut off when a fighter smashed them against a wall. One of the fuel dumps cooked off, flaming figures coming running, their screams pitiful until the security detail put them out of their misery, cutting them down with brutal single shots.

Buidhe came to on the floor. His body ached and he could taste blood in his mouth. Strong hands lifted him, warning klaxons blaring throughout the hangar. “You alright pilot?” asked a harsh voice. Buidhe spluttered in response but managed to croak out an affirmative.

Behind him a group of pilots and techs were struggling to move the carcass of a TIE fighter. “You alright?” came the voice again, more insistent this time. Buidhe focused on the scarred face of the petty officer and coughed, “Yeah”. The petty officer shook his head, “I need a no BS here, can you fly?”. Buidhe's expression hardened and he straightened up. “Yeah, I got it” he insisted. The other man nodded, “It's all yours” he murmured, “Good luck” before heading off to bark orders at two ratings hosing down flames near the closest access hatch.

Buidhe was still half out of it but he straightened up and strumbled towards the bomber, accepting the helmet pressed into his hands. He downed a stimm and began to mount the access ladder. It was only after he'd clambered into the cockpit that he realised how dire the ship's plight was.

He was still only half-way through the pre-flight checks when the order to launch came. Buidhe swore but obediently throttled forward, the bomber shuddering around him. The stimm was kicking in now and he was wide-eyed awake, senses wired and ready for anything.

One eye stayed on the instruments, noting the full racks of concussion missiles, engines in the green, hull integrity almost perfect. His other was swamped with telemetry, targets, flight plans, all flashing up on his heads-up display. “All systems nominal” he murmured, banking to keep the starfighters ahead of him in view. “Stick with us dupes” a lazy voice identified as Cover Six ordered, “Things are getting nasty here”.

Nasty would have been understatement of the year. The First Fleet was being hammered by the NR forces. The Imperials had been caught napping. Fighters swarmed the fleet like locusts while bombers sailed in under their cover to launch strikes against the shields. Buidhe's lenses automatically darkened as the Matchless went supernova.

After the brilliant destruction of the Star Destroyer, a lull seemed to hit, as if they were forgotten about. Cover Six was grim as she came back on the comm. “Alright people, let's pull this together. Patching through new orders”. Buidhe's HUD flashed to display as he was placed in a flight with two pilots he didn't know. Squadron designation Duster. Cover Six had a sick sense of humour. The comm discipline remained. No one wanted to remind themselves that their vessels lacked hyperdrives.

The core of the NR fleet was based around a brace of Impstar-Deuces with support from a matching pair of Mon Cal cruisers. A swarm of smaller support vessels surrounded them, most of the firepower directed at the Atrus.

Cover Six swore in a language Buidhe didn't recognize. Her voice was reluctant as she opened up the floor, “I need your advice bomber jocks”. Ahead of them the Puncher and Steadfast were fighting a losing battle with two Corellian corvettes and one of the Impstar-Deuce's. The corvettes hung close, contemptuously swatting aside fighters and bombers while the capital vessel hammered the smaller ships with swathes of devastating fire. The NR had played their cards well, crippling half the fleet and isolating the rest so everyone fought their own little battle. The Atrus couldn't save them now.

“We won't last two minutes against the smaller ships Cover Six” Buidhe responded flatly, “They're fast enough to track you, nevermind us in bombers”. The other was persistent, “What about the Imp-Deuce?”.

Duster Nine chimed in now. “The big boys and girls are a mite prone to TRD”. Buidhe grinned inside his helmet “Copy that Duster Nine, a dose of Trench Run Disease is just what the medicae ordered. You copy that Cover Six?”. It seemed like suicide going against a capital ship but

He could almost imagine the wolfish smile on Cover Six as she responded. “I'm all for it, Dusters. What's the play?”. Buidhe's fingers danced on the datascreen to paint a flight path, “We go the low road, they're too busy duking it out with each other for us to matter much. We take the belly shield generator. If there's any eggs left after that, we head aft and about turn to hit the next ones”. If there's any of us left, he purposely didn't add. “That's not if there's any issue with it?”

“We're not a democracy” Cover Six cut in brusquely, all business again. “Feth that” Dust Nine muttered, “I land back in with the racks full and not even a scratch on the paint, I'll never hear the end of it”. Murmurs of assent followed that though Duster Two was more reluctant, “We going to last long against something like that?”. “A lot longer than we will against the corvettes Two” Nine interjected, “Besides, we got a big score to settle for the Matchless”.

Buidhe nodded before he realised the other pilot couldn't see him. “Roger that. Cover Six, you reckon you can get the door open and hold it for us?”. “It'll be tight Dusters, you reckon you can make the shot?” the fighter jock sounded almost amused. Buidhe's voice was grim when he answered, “We won't need any target practise Cover Six. Let's do this for the Matchless.”

Duster Squadron came in from the belly side, undercutting the raging maelstrom between the larger ships. The fighters shepherded the bombers tightly, only throttling forward at the last second as they closed with the enemy. Two X-Wings and a Y-Wing went down almost immediately to the surprise attack before the other starfighters could respond.

Buidhe focused on flying, the more sluggish handling of the bomber making him mouth silent prayers as he danced between laser volleys. One of the Corellian corvettes was angling turrets to try and tackle this new threat. A stream of red bolts smashed one of their escorts aside. A few seconds later one of the bombers was caught. The resulting explosion took out an escort and an enemy fighter with it.

But then they were through! Feth we're going to actually do it, Buidhe thought with shock. Sluggish turbolasers struggled to try and catch the nimble spacecraft. They easily evaded it. Their escorts peeled to the sides as the bombers throttled down, Buidhe's targeting computer was counting down the distance, numbers dwindling rapidly. "Duster Four armed" he reported. A microsecond later "Firing".

He didn't even wait to see the results of his shot, he just forced the bomber into a dive, his wingmen firing in quick succession after him. "Scratch one shield generator Dusters" crowed Cover Six in delight. Buidhe didn't even bother to respond, he just kept his bomber screeching aft.

OOC:

An ad hoc squadron make an attack run on one of the NR Impstar Deuces in the aftermath of the Matchless' destruction.

OOC:

Objective 2

The Squad had stood around Dusk, listening to the orders that he had received from the Armies Commanders. The group shifted uneasily as what little information was available was imparted to them; even though Dusk did not let on, it was clear that none of the Senior Officers knew exactly what they were dealing with. The plan that had been initiated was probably just some old protocol or drill exercise that had been brought back to life, which meant the action they were going to take might not be what was required.

“Wait a second. You are telling us you don’t know who we are dealing, how many of them there are, why they are here or even what they are going to be throwing at us?” Karash’s voice was mixed with genuine curiosity, fear and exasperation.

“I am telling you that we are under attack and we are going to go and met whoever the hell it is head on. Do you have a problem with that?” Dusk’s voice had now taken on a more authoritative tone.

“Of course not, this is not my first day out of the academy. I just hoped we were not going in blind, this time.” Karash’s voice trailed off towards the end.

“Thought you would have been used to it by now. Just tell me where to shoot and I’m there.” Heliwer was the next to speak.

“The more time we waste discussing it, the less time we have to be out there doing something about it. We are to get to the drop zones and reinforce whatever is left of our defences. Move out!” Dusk ordered.

The Squad moved quickly, they did not know what they would be presented with but from the noise it clearly was not going to be good. In the near distance shot after shot rang out, further off the occasional explosion caused Karash to shudder. The fact that there were just as many troopers and military personnel running in the opposite direction made him even more uncomfortable. It meant that they were either retreating, simply running away or heading off to defend another point of assault. The noise of battle was getting louder and louder with every step the squad took.

“Hey, what did you mean ‘this time’?” Tetrarch was now jogging parallel with Karash.

“What? Oh. . . I was on Tadath when it got attacked before.” Karash spoke coldly trying to resist the temptation to think back.

“How was it?” The young trooper realised how the question sounded and seemed to mentally chastise himself. “I mean, you survived. The Empire survived. Couldn’t have been that bad, right?” He seemed to want a little reassurance.

“It wasn’t that bad. . . right.” Karash mumbled his reply. ‘It was worse.’ He thought and shuddered.   

It was not long before the Squad reached their destination, what they were presented with did not comfort Karash as the scene was simply chaotic. There were drop ships, almost as far as the eye could see, landing their cargo and unloading scores of armed men and women. The battle was being met with what little defensive forces the Empire had in place, the ground was already scattered with bodies from both sides. Nearby a small group of Stormtroopers were cowering behind hastily thrown together barricades. The Squad took up defensive positions, as Dusk headed for the existing defender’s leader.

“What is the situation here Corporal.” Dusk’s voice maintained its earlier authority.

“We weren’t ready for this; they were mostly rookies on standard patrols. They just rushed forward and we barely had time to take cover. . .”

“Pull yourself together Corporal. We’ll take over now, pull your injured back and report to command. Tell command that Direcat will hold them off for as long as we can but brace the base for assault.”

“Ye. . . Yes, sir, you heard the Sergeant, my men fall back.” The Corporal began to turn but quickly turned back to Dusk, “Goodluck, sir.” He gave a salute and dashed off back towards the base.

“Direcat, maintain defensive positions and brace for attack. We need to give our boys as long as possible to get some proper defences in place.” Dusk gave a curt nod to his squad and readied himself for the rapidly approaching enemy.

As another explosion rang out in the distance Karash thought, ‘I can’t believe I am going to die defending this bloody planet. . .’ His usual thought process was cut short by the first volley of blaster fire scorching the other side of the makeshift barricade he was ducking behind.

OOC:

Objective 3

It was newly evening, and the city smelled of it.  Decrying the work day, thousands of laborers, miners, and contractors spread their numbers thin via their patronage at the many bars and cantinas located conveniently throughout the Starport City on Cephany.  As the last loads of precious ores and minerals were deposited safely away in hover-freights which lazily drifted off towards company warehouses; so did company workers plop down their hard-earned credits at the high-top bars, filling themselves with boozy drafts and sip-breathing on mind clouding vapours.  The night life had officially started.  And as a solitary hour passed away, so did the intensity begin to build among the now-drunk workers; and their demand for entertainment began to rise.  Music had no place here among the uncultivated, nor did sabaac among the unintelligent; these citizens demanded a more violent kind of competition.  A simple, crude kind of arrangement which resonated more with their lifestyle. 

It was this kind of entertainment which Tyyzaferenes, a young celebrity Falleen who excelled at leeching off of wealthy benefactors, had taken upon himself to provide for the night-life mob.  He had stolen a good idea from an up-and-coming entrepreneur whom nobody remembered anymore, and had got enough financial backing from some of his more recklessly rich friends, to build a gladiatorial arena which hosted battles between heavily modified battle droids.  These gladiatorial bots were sponsored by various companies throughout the city, and the whole affair was even done with the approval and guidance of PCR bureaucrats.  Tyyzaferenes had no interest in politics, but he knew that it always helped to have few politicians on call in case of problems.

But there were some problems that could not be easily fixed with connections in high places; for instance, day-to-day managing difficulties, which only annoyed higher ups when brought up and indicated to them that he was incompetent and not worth their attention or protection.  Tyyzaferenes’ particular situation was such that he had delved into a world which he was somewhat unfamiliar with, and had relied on some hiring advice for a team of programmers who could run the kind of underground management that he wanted.  Fixed matches were required in order to maintain big sponsors, and with the kind of transparency that Tyyzaferenes wanted for his company, he needed the kind of skills which were absolutely precise.  Even militaristically so.

When Tyyzaferenes was first introduced to Sovakas Ron, a washed up, former communications tech of the Stormtrooper Corps in what used to be the illustrious, but now somewhat defunct Vast Empire; he wasn’t too terribly impressed with the man.  The Falleen never trusted humans if he couldn’t help it, but upon seeing a demonstration of the ex-military man’s abilities he begrudgingly took him on.  At first, business was good.  But recently the man had displayed signs of laziness and had frustrated financial progress and success so much that he had begun to cost the fledgling entertainment mogul a bit of money.

It was this Tyyzaferenes who entered the executive lounge at his arena complex, and no sooner than the very hour before the scheduled matches of that night.  His long green arms were fixed forcefully at his sides and his reddened eyes scanned the room voraciously for that man who had nearly lost him a million credits the week previous.  He spotted the man, and forced his way through the crowd of patrons until he reached the corner-table at which his distracted employee sat.  Pulling a chair out from beneath another patron, and almost causing a minor scene until the embarrassed patron realized sheepishly the importance of the one who had deprived him of the chair, Tyyzaferenes violently sat down across from the man, and pointed a narrow emerald-hued finger at him.

Prudence kept him from talking.  It suddenly occurred to the young money-maker that he was in a somewhat public place, talking about a match which he had fixed.  He called over one of the servants, and waited until the patrons who were sitting immediately close to them were kindly escorted to the bar to receive the free drinks which they had, apparently warranted receiving.  After making sure that they could speak and be reasonably discreet, Tyyzaferenes resumed the pointed finger and said in a low and secretive voice,

“Are you good for it tonight, or what?”

The bristle-bearded man winced, as if he had been interrupted in some labourious thought, and replied half-heartedly, “Good for what?”

“The fight tonight, you Rork-amnion!”

“Sure.” The man said, as if that would undisputedly settle the question.

The Falleen was not convinced.  He leaned back in his chair, feigning exhaustion, and dragged his black-nailed fingers across his temples in a stress-relieving way as he muttered, “It is the biggest fight of the season, we’ve got close to seven and a half million credits riding on this one!  And, and I don’t even think that the thought has crossed your tech-excrement laden brain, that we could lose everyone tonight.  We might lose everything because you can’t be bothered to do the job that I hired you to do!”

The man finished off whatever it was that he was sipping from, and held it over his shoulder expectantly, as a waiter deftly swapped out the empty tumbler of whatever it was, with a full one.

Tyzzaferenes watched the exchange happen, incredulously.  “Look at you” he sneered.  Seeing that the man wasn’t paying him any attention, he suddenly leaned in closer and hissed, “Look at me!” 

“Make up your mind.” The other mumbled.  “Look at me, you, the slobs, the numbers we make off metal scraping metal.”

“Don’t give me your artistic philosophy bantha-shit, button-masher.  If you’re looking for meaning in your life, it ain’t here.”

“Every night.”  The man began.  “Every night there’s sixty-five thousand of those penniless, intoxicated people sitting in that dome.  They win, they lose, doesn’t matter.  They always come back.”

“You better believe they do!” Tyzzaferenes exclaimed proudly.

“And every night I can’t help but wonder…” the man said, trailing off.

“Look.  Ron,” the Falleen began, “Don’t, don’t get sentimental on me.  You’re getting soft.  They don’t deserve your pity.  They’re animals.  You know that, dontcha?”

For the first time that night, and in fact, since they were first acquainted, Tyzzaferenes noticed a bit of passion in the former soldier’s eyes.  The man, Sovakas Ron, looked up at the Falleen and said, “You ever think about somethin’ other than yourself?”

Tyzzaferenes sighed and stood up from the table, “Just tell me if you’re good for it.”

Ron nodded slowly, took a long sip out of his tumbler and looked the Falleen straight in the eyes, “Starslammer goes down in the second.  Bet on Bloodbacta.”

“If it doesn’t happen, I’ll have you killed.” the young boss said simply. 

He eased the chair under the lip of the table and strode away, only to stop and turn around momentarily to say, “You won’t be needed anymore.  Turns out it wasn’t as difficult to replace you as I thought.  You can pick up your last credit-payment on your way out.”  Flourishing his purple-green cloak, he turned to the massive double doors which led to the arena and forced them both open, allowing the deafening roars of the crowds in the dome to pour into the executive lounge before the entryway was slammed shut, and with it, the cheering noise.

Ron finished his drink and headed for the betting counter.  The clerk slid over the smooth table surface a small credit-stick, “This is what the company owes you for your time”, the clerk said passionlessly, “I’m informed that after tonight your presence will not be permitted on these premises.”

“I’m sure.” Ron said simply.  “Better make the best of it.”  He slid back over the counter the credit chip and said, “Put it all on Starslammer: ‘bacta to go down in the first.” 

The clerk betrayed a single raised eyebrow before regaining complete composure over her complexion, and imputing the requested bet and amounts.  “Thank you, sir.  Good luck.  If you win, the credits will be immediately transferred to your personal account.”

Ron nodded amiably and sat down at one of the patron chairs that faced the large datascreens which would very soon now be displaying the fight.  He knew that it wouldn’t be long before Tyzzaferenes would be coming back, livid, through those same double doors, probably armed; probably heavily armed.  It was a very humiliating thing, to lose a bet on a droid that goes down in the first. 

He saw the familiar faces now appear on the datascreen.  The painted faces of celebrity show hosts who narrated the entire event as if it was an epic of the ancient past, not even considering the drollness of the subject matter which they were now entrusted with.  On the bottom, top, and sides of the screen ran newslet scrolls; bits of information regarding political activity which was happening in the system.  Preparing for the worst, Ron discreetly prepped his holstered blaster pistol.  His fingers fumbled slightly and he accidently let out a sharp click from his illegal preparations.  Hoping to cover the click, Ron stood up quickly as if to get another drink from the bar.  But as he did so, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the following newslet reel scroll over the top of the datascreen in front of him:

TADATH UNDER FIRE, NR OFFICIALS SUSPECT FOUL PLAY, OLD EMPIRE SYMPATHIES…

A moment of clarity suddenly washed over Ron in a way which he had not experienced in a very long time.  Memories flooded back into his mind of the war effort, of old loyalties, old friends, old battles, high ideologies, and the promises of glory.  Though his body was fixed in the executive lounge on Cephany, suddenly he found his mind transported off at hyperspeed through space, and hopping from battle to battle, back among his RAIDERS squad mates, even reliving his debilitating wound suffered on Arkania; and afterwards, his short-lived renegade life among thick-skinned pirates of Osk.

The trance was broken quickly.  The glazed film over Ron’s eyes disappeared as he realized that the droid fight had just ended.  He rushed past the clerk’s desk, down the tall and elegantly winding crystal staircase, and out the doors of the executive lounge to the city streets of the Starport. 

Ron stopped here briefly, slightly surprised that he had made it thus far, as Tyyzaferenes had an excellent reputation of following up on his, albeit often made, threats.  Then, with a forced calmness, he sifted through the VIP parking until he found his speeder, mounted the bike, and tore off towards the space-port.

A few moments later, three speeders from the same lot followed the first in a patient and distanced pursuit.

OOC:

Feels good to be back.

OOC:

Objective Besh

The lift came to a halt on the bottom deck of the ship, Arianna stepping out into the hall.  She looked around quickly before taking off for the ventral hangar access.  'Get the fighter prepped... and get out there.  No time for triple diagnostics, not like I can apparently trust those...' she thought to herself, turning quickly down a hall at a near sprint.  'Can't trust any of the engineers down here either.. Great.  I'm going to have to tell the Deck Engineer to cram it up his cram hole...'

With a push of a button, she stepped out onto the deck of the ventral hangar, spying a pair of old TIE Fighters resting up in their racks.  With a smirk and a quick hop, skip, and a jump, she ran over to the fighters, gripping her helmet tightly as she ran up the stairs to the overhead walkways.  As she reached the top, a bright blaster bolt whizzed by her head.  She dove down onto the walkway, drawing the pistol from her holster as more energy blasts flew past.

"These fighters are not leaving this hangar, Imperial scum!" one of the hostiles, a male by the sound of it, yelled, shooting a volley of the bright red-orange energy at Arianna.

She quickly crawled back some, thankful that the walkways had solid walls and not tiny pipe railing like you see on backwater worlds.  She slowly moved into a low crouch before peeking up, blindly firing her pistol at the enemies.

A second voice spoke up, this one female.  "Surrender, Imperial pilot!  You won't be leaving this hangar alive if you don't!"

"Since I'll be dead anyway, I'll take my chances with those Reshie fighters outside!" the squadron commander yelled back before she peeked up, shooting several focused blasts of energy at the female enemy.  "You don't have to do this!  Just stop and walk away.  I won't pursue you!"

"Go to hell, you sith spawn!" the male retorted, firing another blast at Arianna, prompting her to duck back down.

She grit her teeth before closing her eyes.  "You asked for it..."  With a quick movement, she ran out from her cover, firing at the enemies as she moved to one of the fighters.  She quickly dropped down into the cockpit and closed the hatch above her.  With quick movements, she fired up the engines and released the TIE clamps above.

Angered by the sudden movement, the two hostiles fired their blasters at the TIE, trying to disable it before Arianna could escape.

She slipped on her helmet and smirked some before flying ahead some, quickly spinning the fighter around.  She flipped on a switch for external speakers and spoke into her headset.  "Sorry you guys.  Can't play anymore.  I've got a squadron to rally," Arianna said with a grin, firing a pair of bright green energy blasts at the pair before piloting the craft out of the hangar.  She switched over to the squadron comm and spoke, still grinning.  "Aurora Squadron, this is Aurora Lead.  All fighters report in and rally to me under the Adjud-" she stopped, looking out the cockpit, specifically, at a pair of enemy squadrons heading down to the planet surface.  "Screw me sideways to Kessel... Scratch that, 'Rora!  We've got a much bigger problem!  Continue engaging enemy bombers and fighters until I can relay new orders."

Arianna tapped at her console before opening a new channel.  "Sabre Wing Command, this is Commander Blaire of Aurora Squadron.  Do you copy?" she asked, watching the enemy fighters continue towards the planet.

"Commander Terrix here, Commander Blaire.  Glad to see you could finally join us," the Wing Commander replied over the comm.

"My apologies, sir.  My fighter suffered multiple systems failures due to sabotage.  However, I am here now," she said with a smile.

"Good.  Now, what do you need Blaire?"

"Two enemy squadrons have broken off engagement and are heading to the surface sir.  I am requesting permission for Aurora Squadron to break off engagement with enemy bomber squadrons up here and pursue."

"Are you sure you guys can handle taking on two squadrons while suffering from a rampant virus wreaking havoc on your systems?" Terrix asked.

"Sir, I am confident that we can handle it.  This is why we have wingmen after all," she nodded in affirmation, forgetting for a moment that literally no one could see her.

The channel was silent for a moment before Terrix replied.  "Permission granted.  Go make sure the fighters don't wipe out the surfacers."

"Thank you, sir.  We won't let you down.  Commander Blaire out," she said, switching back to the squadron channel.  She accelerated her fighter towards the raging battle, smiling softly.  "Aurora, on me!  Two enemy squadrons have broken off from the main engagement and are on fast approach to the surface!  We have been authorized to pursue and engage!  Lieutenant Evenson, you and Besh Flight will take point!  Aurek and Cresh Flights will be close behind!"

OOC:

After Action Report: Arianna made it down to the ventral hangar, where she entered into a shootout with a pair of saboteurs.  Using her small size and speed, she made it to one of the TIE's, where she used the laser cannons to finish off the saboteurs before leaving the ship.  Once outside, she contacted Wing Commander Erol Terrix, requesting permission to engage a squadron of Y-Wings and a squadron of X-Wings that were on approach to the planet surface.  Following that, she rallied the squadron together to begin pursuit of the enemy fighters.

OOC:

Objective 3

Celine “Luckystar” Nash, had been finding ways to keep herself busy of late with helping out with the new blood coming through the doors, or kicking back with a few friends here and there but was starting to feel a little on edge because she hadn’t seen any action in ages it felt like. While in the gym, working on a few lifts and hoping for a PR her lifting buddy Tyson asked if she’d be up for a few drinks later, which se accepted seeing as she had nothing planned for that evening.

Back in her quarters she looked at her armour - it looked and was well-used with a few dents and scratches here and there. She prided herself on keeping her armour and weapons cleaned and in good working order just in case it was ever needed. Sighing deeply, she looked away from the storage locker where it was all stored and instead turned to peruse her closet... Most of the clothing she had was practical as she didn’t like to look too womanly. This aversion to dresses and the like went way back to her childhood as she for some reason had been bullied by a few low-lifes in her neighbourhood and so she started dressing in clothes that made her look tougher than she was back then, and slowly the bullying decreased. But she never to this day wore anything too feminine for fear of being judged. Knowing Tyson wouldn’t care much what she had on, she picked a plain light-coloured short sleeve top, black pants and of course her trusty combat boots and headed out the door.

A few hours later she and Tyson were knocking back a few drinks - some scotch of sorts for her in this case when Tyson changed the conversation from small talk to something they hadn’t talked f much.

“So...” he started off tentatively.

“What’s on your mind, Ty? I thought I told you everything you wanted to know about my time in service”

“Yeah, but we haven’t broached the subject in a while and I was wondering if there was anything new in that field?”

Sighing deeply, she set her glass down and stared at its contents thoughtfully. “I’m ready to go whenever, I’m just waiting for the moment where I’m needed” she replied with a bit of bitterness.

At that moment she heard a viewscreen come to life and all she registered were the words TADATH UNDER FIRE before her mind went blank and before she could register it all, she had shot up from her seat and dropped credits on the table to pay for her drink before rushing out the door.

“Celine! Wait up!” Tyson was shouting behind her, but she wasn’t listening any longer. Her brain had shifted gears and her mind was on other things - someone was attacking her home!

Back in her quarters she threw off her clothes and got into her undersuit and armour and going through a mental checklist. E-11: Check. Extra ammo:Check. Without really thinking about it her mind went back to the good ol’ days and soon enough she was suited up and ready to go. As she rushed out her quarters she saw Tyson standing not far off and gawking. “See ya Ty, catch you fo drinks later!” In the blink of an eye she was on a speeder headed towards the awaiting action.

OOC:

WC: 570 Good to be back and joining the party

"Time to go"Robert murmured as he lined up the remaining Y-wing on his scopes. He squeezed the trigger.. And then.... Nothing.
there was nothing.

"What the- Aurora? Something's wrong with my weapons, I'm not.." he broke off, having to roll his Interceptor away too avoid a barrage of fire from an onrushing X-Wing.

His instruments weren't working, nothing was showing up on his weapons scopes.
"Aurora, I'm getting malfunctioning weapons systems here, I can't fire anything, anyone else having this problem?"

The squadron was in chaos, he had no idea where everyone else was, having lost Makenna in the confusion of his attack on the Y-wings, then the voice of Trevor, deep and reassuring, cut across the comm. In spite of his admitted dislike for the man personally, GreatWolf had never been happier too hear him.

"Roger Flight Lead, regrouping and forming up on wing now, guess we'll just have too look out for each other more." as he said this, he silently cursed himself for leaving Makenna alone too outrun the X-wings,
some wingman you are, you could at least try to keep people alive.
Fortunately, her interceptor was still in one piece, so he quickly made a beeline for her TIE.

Then Commander Blaire's voice came over the comm.

"Aurora Squadron this is Aurora Lead, all fighters report in and rally to me under the Adju..." there was a brief pause, and GreatWolf checked that his Comms hadn't malfunctioned too.

"Screw me sideways to Kessel, scratch that 'Rora' we've got a much bigger problem, continuing engaging enemy fighters and bombers until I can relay new orders".

With pleasure, Robert thought, So long as my damn weapons are back on line.

As he thought this, an X-wing in pursuit of another TIE vaulted across his scopes, acting instinctively, Robert pulled his trigger, getting off a quick burst and damaging the ship just before it managed to manuovere out of harms way.

But GreatWolf wasn't the pilot to leave a job unfinished, he quickly swerved upward, steadily tracking his damaged foe, lining him up carefully on the approach. Then, when he felt the moment was right, and his instincts called for him to fire, he pulled down on his trigger again...

And was rewarded with an X-wing collapsing in a ball of flame, the pilot having no opportunity for ejection.

Just as this occurred, his weapons systems died again,
"Oh joy" he muttered, as two A-wings rapidly vectored too enagage,
"Missile Lock" came the slightly annoying feminine voiceover on his TIE, his instruments blared Amber alarms as he swerved dangerously too avoid the incoming.

Then, he dropped, rapidly cutting his altitude and pushing his control yoke downwards too flatten his trajectory, ensuring the missile would continue on its course, missing his TIE.
"Missile, evaded" came the voiceover again.

But before he could draw to comfortable a breath, his SC's voice came over the com again.
"Aurora, on me, two enemy squadrons have broken off from the main engagement and are on fast approach to the surface. We have been authorised to pursue and engage! Lieutenant Evenson, you and Besh Flight will take point! Aurek and Cresh flights will be following close behind"

Robert grinned at the news
On approach to the surface? Should be relatively easy pickings then, just hope the Stormies will be buying the fly boy's drinks tonight's!

And thus, flanking Makenna and the other Besh Flight pilots, he sped up and began lowering his altitude, on a vector too intercept the New Republic forces rapidly moving towards Lotaith.

Quote:OOC:
After Action report. After suddenly suffering a weapons systems failure, GreatWolf is forced to break off his pursuit of the remaining X-wing, and spends some time trying to re-establish some order from the chaos. Following his regrouping with Besh flight, he takes advantage of the lull too wipe out another X-wing and then plays a high-risk game of tag with two A-wings, He then regroups fully with the rest of the squadron, and takes point for the attack on the NR squadrons moving to the surface.

OOC:

objective 4, and 5

"Hey you!" A shout came from another group of militiamen coming his way. This was almost immediately followed by a blaster bolt which struck a tree sending its bark and some of it's denser wood splintering through the air.

The group was comparable in size as the last one but the difference this time was that there was no sneak attack coming. Amram took a blaster pistol from one of to fallen combatants and took off on a run as more blaster fire erupted from near by. Tree's and scattered boulders took the brunt of the barrage with other shots completely missing.

All but one lucky shot which struck which struck Amram's calf. The pain was incredible but at the moment he was running on adrenaline and would only really feel it later when he calmed down. He couldn't out run the enemy for very long especially when his leg was already starting to stiffen up.

He had to think tactically and keep calm; to panic now would only lead to his death. The first thing he had to do was get off the most obvious trail leading back to the base. The next he would have to do was slow the group down as a whole. Then more running and maybe just maybe after that bandage his leg.

The first goal was easy enough, he left the main trail in favor of a game trail. Amram's tracks would be easy enough to follow but it was the best he could do and the twisting and turning would slow down a group requiring them to move single file or two by two stretching out the group.

The militiamen were closing in still and it was time to slow them down. Rounding a tight bend near a large glacial rock Amram stopped and caught his breath and concentrated on steadying his heart beat and waited facing towards the on coming enemy group. The first of the group met Amram and for a brief moment of surprise Amram took the advantage and fired.

Now the thing about sentient species, especially ones that tend to follow the ideals of the New Republic is that they are incredibly self sacrificing. If they are in a position where they are critically injured they will tell their companions to go on with out them and they will gladly die alone for the good of their communities.  Though not in so many words. But when the injury is one that can be healed, that causes the injured member severe pain the group is more likely to either retreat or slow down enough to care for their compatriot.

Amram didn't kill the militiaman, he didn't cause a wound that would cause the militiaman to bleed out. The shot for all intents and purposes was non-lethal. Amram aimed for the knee cap. The blaster bolt passed through the bone and cartilage of the knee and tore out of the other side. Not enough to amputate the thing but burned a hole large enough to make the militiaman howl and scream in utter pain.

Amram once again trotted off as best as he possibly could his leg getting tighter. Now one of three things was going to happen, either the group would retreat with their companion so that he could get medical aid, they would as a group bandage hims as best as possible and continue to follow him but slower now or they would split up taking their injured man back and chase him with fewer numbers.  Either way it was advantageous to Amram, Direcat squad, Osiris Regiment and The Vast Empire as a whole.

Time was now temporarily on Amram's side as he could hear the screams of pain and the militiaman's compatriots trying to help him. Taking a few moments Amram sent a coded transmission back to command.
... . -. -.. / .-. . .. -. ..-. --- .-. -.-. . -- . -. - / - --- / - .... . ... . / -.-. --- --- .-. -.. .. -. .- - . ... / -... . ..-. --- .-. . / - .... . / -... .- ... . / .. ... / --- ..- - / ..-. .-.. .- -. -.- . -.. / -... -.-- / .- -. / ..- -. -.- -. --- .-- -. / -. ..- -- -... . .-. / --- ..-. / -- .. .-.. .. - .. .- .-.-.-

OOC:

Send reinforcement to these coordinates before the base is out flanked by an unknown number of militia. 641 words.